The Great Big Somewhere, Right Above Our Heads
by Casingoon
Summary: "He lost himself in the stars. He couldn't comprehend how his emotions had gotten so out of control, what he was even feeling in the first place. He was on a downward path, but there wasn't anyway out that he could see." Draco does some reflecting in his sixth year.


**A/N: **Written for Hogwarts School Astronomy Class. The assignment was to write about someone lost, emotionally or physically. The prompts night, void, and eternity were also given.

**The Great Big Somewhere, Right Above Our Heads**

**...**

Sixth year was not a pleasant one for Draco Malfoy. He was finally initiated into the Dark Lord's pack of servants. He was a Death Eater. Well, he was almost a Death Eater. He had to prove his loyalty first. Draco was pretty sure Voldemort wanted him dead, with the task he chose for the sixteen year old.

He had to kill Albus Dumbledore, something Voldemort himself wasn't confident enough to attempt. Draco walked up the spiral staircase in the Astronomy tower, these thoughts racing through his head. It wasn't a class night, but that didn't mean that the professor would be absent. Draco just hoped she would be.

It seemed he was a lucky man. When he reached the top of the tower, on it's flat roof with telescopes lined around the edges there was no sign that anyone else was there. He sighed, sitting on the edge of the roof, legs dangling off. He looked up at the stars, wondering how he had ended up in this position.

He supposed he could blame it on his parents, avid Voldemort supporters back in the first war. His father for failing Voldemort and ending up in Azkaban. He could blame his grandfathers, Abraxas Malfoy and Cyprus Black. They started the tradition of being slaves to the tyrant, after all. Draco wanted desperately to do so. To toss the blame off on someone else and be done with it. He just couldn't do it.

No matter how hard he tried, there was a tiny little part of him that made him blame himself. The little voice in the back of mind that he supposed was his conscience.

_You may have been a victim of circumstance at one point, but you're almost an adult Draco. When are you ever going to take responsibility. You could have left your home and moved in with someone else, if you objected so much to Voldemort's morals. But you don't._

He tried to argue with himself, even though he realized that was pointless and crazy. He did have a problem with the Dark Lord's morals.

_Oh please. Second year, wishing death on Granger. How about something a little more recent? Like fifth year, when you joined Umbridge? Didn't have any problem with her abuse of power, as long as she shared some with you. You aren't an innocent little angel lost in the crossfire._

Draco would have fought back, but he knew it was true. He wasn't innocent, he wasn't a victim. Not anymore. Even the Weasley's would have let him stay with them, if he had told them he was hiding from the Death Eaters. If he told them he didn't want to join Voldemort. That was the thing though. He did want to be Death Eater. It just wasn't until he was given such an impossible task that he had his doubts. A selfish epiphany.

He exhaled slowly, looking up into the sky. He lost himself in the stars. He couldn't comprehend how his emotions had gotten so out of control, what he was even feeling in the first place. He was on a downward path, but there wasn't anyway out that he could see. Not now, at least. He had his chances, over and over and he blew it every time. Now he had locked himself on this path for eternity, it seemed.

He tried to focus on particular stars. Remember what Sinistra had said about there positions and what they could reveal. They wouldn't reveal a personal prediction like Divination, though. They were much too big, and Draco was much too small for them to care. He liked that feeling, though. If he were small and insignificant he could life his live like anybody else. None of the choices he made would matter, and maybe none of it did. Maybe everyone down here was so small that it didn't matter. Who cared if Voldemort took over, if he won? He could kill every last human on Earth, but what would it matter? There were other planets that wouldn't even notice, other stars, other galaxies. Light years away, no one cared about this little dot in a little solar system.

Draco calmed himself with these thoughts, thinking more about the great big somewhere that was hanging right above his head. There was a big void, a black hole. Tons of them in fact, from what Sinistra had told them. They were in ancient textbooks, and she had laughed about how long it took muggles to catch on to anything. That it took them centuries to wrap their heads around the idea that there were these big nothings that would pull everything into them, and nothing would ever come out.

Draco didn't blame the muggles at all. Who would want to believe that? Who would want to know there was an inescapable pull, stretching and breaking apart everything that came near? He laughed quietly, and somehow it sounded sad. The Dark Lord Voldemort, not unlike a giant black hole.

Draco looked back towards the castle. He slowly moved off of the edge, and began his descent through the tower. If nothing mattered, he could keep going.


End file.
